the spring break saga

Writing about my experience over the past week is a daunting task because there is so much to say and I want to say it all just right. It was one of the most amazing weeks of my life, and I went on an adventure comparable to few things I have ever done before. It was a good thing my mom was in Israel and my dad isn’t very good at texting with me because I am not sure they would have let me do what I did if they had known. I hope this account of my trek across South Africa can give you an idea of what kind of a time I had.

the Ammazulu African Palace at night

We began the journey last on Friday, September 10. I left Cape Town via South African Airways with two of my closest friends on the program. We were headed towards Durban, a city that we were expecting to be beautiful, Indian-food filled, and a great new place to explore. We were planning on spending the first night at a hotel outside of Durban called the Ammazulu African Palace, a five-star guest house we found on Google by searching, “funny Durban hotels.” We arrived at the airport in Durban, found a taxi to take us to Kloof where the hotel was located. As we approached the Palace, we had to go up a huge, rocky hill of a driveway. The stick-shift taxi hardly made it up, and by the time we arrived on the scene, the four of us (including the cab driver) were hysterically laughing…little did we know this laughter would be nothing compared to the reaction we had upon entering the palace.

the Ammazulu African Palace during the day

The Ammazulu African Palace boasts that it is an experience unlike anything else in the world, and let me tell you, this marketing is completely correct. The property was bought by Peter Amm, a gay, South African millionaire who built the structure as a shrine to his art (not expensive or particularly special) that he had collected around the world. Additionally, it functioned as a location for (as the woman in charge of the guest house told us) “Peter’s gay parties.” There is no other way to describe the hotel than a cluster-fuck of African art meets Las Vegas. If the Vegas strip had an African themed hotel, this is what it would look like.

After a thorough explanation of Peter (who apparently doesn’t talk to anyone besides his partner), the art, and the location (we were staying atop a gorge), we retired to our room with a Jacuzzi, king-size bed, and large porch. Kara, my friend who may or may not have a serious case of narcolepsy, fell asleep and we (Arianna and I) proceeded to put all sorts of random stuff we found all over her and took pictures. Kara’s ability to fall and stay asleep anywhere provides endless entertainment for me, a condition Arianna has dubbed “spending too much time at summer camp.”

Kara rocking the peacock feathers while asleep

In the morning, the woman in charge of the Palace (I think her name was Alta) made us breakfast, and we thought we would go on a nice hike through the gorge (kloof, in Afrikaans). Kara, the responsible one among us, asked whether or not there are snakes in the nature reserve. Alta responded, seemingly too calmly, “Of course! There are black mambas.” Ever-responsible Kara immediately said we weren’t going, as black mambas are the most deadly snakes in the world…my epipen, I discerned, would not be helping us if attacked by a black mamba. Instead, Alta insisted that we rent a car in order to drive around our KwaZulu Natal a.k.a. Zulu Land, the province that Durban calls its home. An hour and a half later, a white minivan showed up with a huge crack across the windshield, I was asked to show my license, not a single paper was signed, and away we went with Kara in the passenger seat directing, Arianna in the back, and me driving for the first time on the opposite side of the road!

In order to remember how to navigate the other side of the road, Kara continually screamed out, “WIDE RIGHT” or “TIGHT LEFT.” Only once did I hit the curb, a feat of which I was incredibly proud. Arianna, too, was a great passenger, handing me lots of Cadbury milk chocolate covered peanuts and commending me for my wonderful driving. From here on out, please keep in mind that Arianna is the eternal optimist – a quality that I most admire in her.

Our destination was to a Zulu crafts market and a Zulu dancing performance. We drove through the country side of KZN (KwaZulu Natal…peace, love, abbreviations), which is called the Valley of a Thousand Hills, in order to get there. We easily could have been in the European countryside, but the African hitchhikers on the side of the road just about every three feet (excuse me, I mean **meters**) made it pretty hard to forget where we were. We got sufficiently lost, but luckily once we found the craft market, the Zulu dancing was not too far away. Unfortunately, the Zulu craft market had all of the same supposed “unique” crafts that they sell all over Cape Town, and as we found out later on in the trip, all over the rest of South Africa. By the end of the week, I was pretty convinced that these goods are all centrally made in a sweatshop in India. Thank you, globalization.

Arianna and I in the empty amphitheater 

The Zulu dancing was the most absurd thing ever. We parked the car and went in to buy tickets, where we were told that the price of our ticket included a crocodile and snake encounter in addition to the dance performance. After learning earlier that morning about snakes and imagining myself perishing to the venom of a black mamba, I quickly explained to the man that we would only be staying for the performance and that we would like a lower price. For us, “three beautiful ladies,” he said he would take off thirty rand, a whopping four dollars! We entered through the gift shop to a completely empty African-hut-looking amphitheater overlooking the valley. It was absolutely beautiful, but all three of us were apprehensive about the fact that a 15-person ensemble would be performing for just us. Luckily, about 20 people eventually emerged from the croc-snake encounter and joined us. As we were waiting for the performance to start, one of the dancers about half her height came up to Kara and told her he would like her to be his wife. Unfortunately for the man, I don’t think Kara could see his lifestyle fitting into her future plans of getting a masters in public health at Harvard and going on to rule the world.

Eventually the performance started and 15 African men and women, decked in Zulu garb, danced and sang and drummed for all of us tourists sitting before them. I was dying of second hand embarrassment, as these dancers were clearly just normal people dressing up. If the Ammazulu palace was Las Vegas, then this whole experience, including the ensuing kitchen-hut demonstration, was the Zulu Sturbridge Village. We eventually got out, exiting through the only gift shop in all of South Africa that I have thus far left my wallet unscathed. From here it was on to meet the rest of our friends in the, as we thought at this point, promising city of Durban. 

Kara and her future husband

From the highway, the view of Durban looked beautiful, but from here on out it was only downhill. Although we stayed at a beautiful hotel that we got at a crazy good rate, Durban had few to no redeeming qualities. Firstly, the beaches (one of the sole reasons we came to Durban) were sketchy. One day I was sitting alone on the sand reading and three different men came up to me within the span of an hour. The first asked if I was “open for business,” the second asked me to rub lotion on the bodies of him and seven friends, and the third was curious if he could show me all the great things that Durban had to offer. Unfortunately the first man came up to me for the next three days in a row, until I finally screamed at him that I was closed for business and that I was reading a book and had no interest in ever opening up my shop for him. Second, Durban has really crappy Indian food. Although it boasts itself as the best location for Indian food outside of the homeland itself, the “bunny chow” that is offered across Durban gave us….let’s just agree that you don’t want to hear about it. Third, there are homeless people EVERYWHERE begging for money who will not leave you alone even when you are sitting on the beach. I am pretty sure my sister received a text from me saying, “If one more person asks me for another rand I am going to beat them over the head with my wallet” (thank you Haley for being a trooper and listening to all my crazy rants via WhatsApp from Durban). Finally, the main attraction in Durban is the movie theater. While the $2.50 movie ticket at a theater with the greatest selection of Bollywood movies in Africa may be worth the $2000 transatlantic plane ride, we knew it was time to go when Arianna and I were excited to see Monte Carlo, a teeny bopper film featuring the talents of Justin Bieber’s sweetheart Selena Gomez. Shortly after the credits rolled, I began to plan my escape out of Durban.

Liz after eating "bunny chow"

I woke up Wednesday morning in a funk. Durban, I had concluded was the worst. Arianna and I had been in the company of our friends Liz and Annie since Saturday when Kara and another friend Jenna had left to take a bus down the coast back to Cape Town. We all were thoroughly enjoying each other’s company in our luxurious hotel suite with the all you could eat buffet breakfast, but I could not spend another day in Durban. As we sat on the beach, I suggested to Arianna that we look into changing our flights. She immediately agreed, but to our dismay when I called South African Airways they told me it would be around 100 U.S. dollars to change our flights, even though my great aunt was sick and I needed to get back in the next four hours – the doctors said that was all she had left. Disappointed we sat in silence, and immediately a light bulb went off: let’s rent a car and drive back to Cape Town! We both agreed it was brilliant, called Avis, reserved a car, and went upstairs to convince Liz and Annie to come with us.

the beach in Durban (and my toes)

After a brief discussion, our two buddies decided they were going to come with. Annie called the airport shuttle, and we had to be out of the hotel in 10 minutes. Our getaway was quick; we likened it to escaping an impending attack. Upon arrival at the Avis counter, I worked my magic (thanks Dad, for teaching me all your tricks) and got us a VW Polo for $280 for three days with unlimited mileage. My new friend Deano wished us well, and we were on the road back to the indisputably greatest city in South Africa.

to be continued tomorrow…..